Touch of Passion (19 page)

“If you wish,” she said. “I've never tried to stop you from doing so before, have I? I'm sure there's no need to do so now. It's really none of my business, after all. And you have to go somewhere to assuage your . . . needs,” she said, slightly uncomfortable at having to find a word for what she meant. “I suppose I would be angered if you or Dyfed dallied with any of the castle maids, but if it's one of the women at Neli Wynne's—Kian, for pity's sake, I don't know why you should look so shocked. I used to live with such women, if you remember. Women, as it happens, who had all been in company with you and Dyfed—and more than once or twice. They weren't in the least shy about telling me about the both of you—in great detail—so there's no need for you to pretend surprise for my sake.”

He didn't look surprised. Rather, he looked stricken, almost as if she had slapped him across the face rather than made a simple statement of fact.

“I remember far more than you do, apparently,” he told her, the words taut with emotion. “Have you forgotten the
vow I made that night at the Red Fox? That I would be faithful to you alone?”

She had forgotten it, Loris realized with a touch of chagrin. Or perhaps she simply hadn't believed him. She had always assumed that he visited women outside of Tylluan, either in the village or while he was in London. But now that she thought on the matter, Loris remembered that Kian had seldom, if ever, accompanied Dyfed during his visits to Neli Wynne's.

“I haven't had a woman since that night, Loris,” Kian said. “And I'll not do so until the curse has been lifted and you come into my arms with the full knowledge of what we are to each other.”

Now it was her turn to be surprised. He'd not lain with a woman in over ten years? Because of
her?

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Kian,” she said angrily, pulling free of his grasp and sitting down on the bed to stare at him. “Do you truly mean to say that you've denied yourself because of that imaginary
unoliaeth?
”

The words hurt him. He flinched, and his eyes filled with unmistakable pain. Loris hadn't expected that. She'd thought he would make his usual sarcastic retort, mocking her and what she said. For some reason, his reaction made her only angrier.

“That's the most foolish thing I've ever heard of,” she snapped, wishing now that she'd never even made the suggestion. “And it's not fair to me, to make me the cause of any deprivation you suffer. There's no need for it. I don't want you to keep yourself pure for my sake, Kian,” she said, and watched him pale. He took a step away; Loris had never seen such a strange look on his face. And still she couldn't stop her anger.

It
wasn't
her fault that he chose to go without female companionship. She'd never asked him to make such a sacrifice. “I'm not ignorant about what such fleeting unions signify,” she said. “Or what they don't signify, rather. From what I've been told it's a perfectly common and natural thing for men
to do, especially when they're not bound by marriage. And since you're not bound by marriage, there's no reason for you to suffer. If you feel frustration because of me, then, please, go and rid yourself of it.”

He only continued to gaze at her. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

“Don't look at me like that!” she shouted, standing. Why didn't he say something? Something tart or cruel? What was the matter with him? “You'll
not
make me feel guilty, Kian Seymour. I don't even believe in the
unoliaeth
. You know I don't. I've never asked you to deny yourself in any way.”

He looked away at last, still shaking his head as if he simply could not believe what she said. Silently, the chamber door opened, and Kian turned and walked out of the room.

“It's unfair to blame me!” Loris shouted after him, but he didn't stop walking. “
Kian!
It isn't fair!”

Her only reply was the chamber door swinging slowly back again, until it closed with an almost imperceptible click.

It had not been Kian's habit, since attaining his majority, to drink overmuch. He enjoyed a glass of whiskey when he was in the company of other men and drank his share of ale and wine with meals and on the rare occasions when he found himself in a tavern. Whenever a celebration was held at Tylluan, he would be the first to confess that he drank a good deal more than he should, but never enough to even approach being drunk. He knew about being drunk, of course, and had been in that condition a sufficient number of times during his reckless youth to last a lifetime. Following one particularly harrowing recovery, he had concluded that the suffering that occurred the day after wasn't worth the numb pleasure of the night before.

But he drank tonight, much to the surprise of his men when they rode out for their nightly surveillance, readily sharing the several flasks they'd brought along. And to the surprise of the footman who greeted him at the castle door, as well, when Kian told the man to bring a full bottle of his best whiskey—the kind Loris kept locked safely away in the cellar—to his bedchamber. Loris, who had wisely stayed away from him for the remainder of the day, even excusing herself from the evening meal, must have agreed to the
footman's request for the key—Kian could just imagine how surprised
she
must have been—for the bottle was delivered to his chamber a few minutes later.

He'd been working on emptying it since, sitting morosely before the dimly glowing fireplace, and still hadn't come close to banishing her words from his memory.

Perhaps you should make a visit to the village soon
. . . .
You have to go somewhere to assuage your needs
. . . .
That's what truly matters to men, is it not?

A wave of fresh pain washed over him, and he closed his eyes in misery.

He was a
fool
and had been since he'd met her. He'd thought himself so noble all these years, saving himself for her—no, not saving, for there'd been nothing innocent in him left to save, except his heart, and she didn't even want that. But he'd tried to make up for his reckless past, for all the women who'd come before, and had kept himself from so much as lusting after another female. Even when he'd wanted to. Which he had, for he wasn't blind, after all, and there wasn't any sin in simply looking . . . but no, even that had been too awful a thing to do to
darling
Loris. Kian had firmly kept his eyes to himself, determined to prove how much he loved her. To show her that she could trust him.

She'd never even noticed.

I don't know why you should look so shocked. I used to live with such women . . . They weren't in the least shy about telling me about you
. . . .

Of course she hadn't noticed. She didn't care about him. Not even a little. She spurned his professions of love and denied the truth of the
unoliaeth
, despite accepting that a curse had made his touches painful. His touches . . . she liked them well enough while they lasted. But not enough to care about whether he bedded other women.

I don't want you to keep yourself pure for my sake, Kian
. . . .
From what I've been told it's a perfectly common and natural thing for men to do . . . If you feel frustration because of me, then go and rid yourself of it
. . . .

That was just what he should do, Kian thought angrily. He should go to the village now, no matter how late it was—or early, rather, as midnight had surely come and gone—and wake up Neli and all her girls and enjoy each of them in turn. And when he'd gone through the lot he'd start over again until he'd driven all thoughts of Loris out of his brain.

But still it wouldn't be enough, he knew. He could never quench the need he felt for her. Never exorcise his soul of her.

“Because you're a fool,” he told himself angrily, pushing the bottle into the air, where it floated, waiting until he wanted it again. “The
unoliaeth
doesn't force you to love her, but you do, anyway. And she doesn't love you at all.”

But why would she? Loris only loved those people or things that made her feel safe. His father and Dyfed. Tylluan. And Liw Nos. He could understand it, in a way, knowing what he did of her past. She didn't want to find herself bound to someone wild, someone like him, no matter how hard he tried to prove himself trustworthy. But understanding didn't make the pain of rejection lessen any.

A soft knock fell on his door. So soft that Kian scarcely heard it. He ran a hand over his face and blinked, surprised that he'd not realized Loris had left her chamber and traversed the long hallway to come to him. He always felt her presence when they were both in the castle, and knew where she was. The whiskey must have dulled his senses, he thought. Or perhaps he'd just been too lost in self-pity to think of anything else.

“Kian?” The heavy, medieval latch slowly lifted, and the door pushed slightly open just as Kian turned to look at it. “Are you awake?”

He neither moved nor spoke, but waited, wondering why she'd come.

The door opened wider to reveal her standing in the dimly lit hall, dressed in her nightgown and dressing robe. Her long hair hadn't been braided, as it normally was each night, but left to fall like a curling, golden waterfall down the length of her back. Her feet, he noticed with a frown, were bare and
probably freezing. What on earth had made her leave her room without her slippers? Surely the matter wasn't so pressing that she couldn't have taken a moment to put them on.

She saw him sitting by the fire and took a few steps into the room. Her hands were doing what they always did when she was nervous, twisting restlessly, one against the other.

“I'm sorry to bother you so late—so early, I mean,” she said, her voice tellingly high-pitched. “I know I should have waited until later, but I was afraid that—perhaps—you were having as much trouble as I am sleeping.” She released a shaking breath and took another step forward. “Because of what happened earlier,” she clarified. “Because of the things I said. I wanted to come and tell you that I'm sorry. Truly sorry, Kian. I had no right to say such things to you and wish very much that I hadn't. I know you'll not want to forgive me. I don't expect you to, at least not for a long while. But perhaps you might be able to sleep now. Because you must sleep. You've been so weary of late, and I don't want to add to the cause of that. So, I–I'll just go.” She backed away, toward the door. Her gaze fell away from his. “Good night, Kian,” she said, and closed the door gently behind her.

His heart, Kian discovered, was beating wildly in his chest. He stared at the door and wondered if he'd just imagined what had happened. If Loris had truly been there at all or if it had been a vision wrought by a combination of desire and whiskey.

Slowly, he turned back to face the fire. God help him, but she made such a muddle of his emotions. Want had replaced anger, but that wasn't anything unusual. And she was lying awake . . . because of him? She'd been concerned about him. About his weariness. But he'd not be able to sleep now. And he doubted she would, either.

He'd not thought to go to her again as Liw Nos before she left for London. But they were both awake, and there was so little time left for them to be together. And she was feeling guilty about what had happened. Liw could make her feel better. He could give her peace. He always did.

. . .

Loris had tried lying down on her bed when she returned to her own room, but sleep still evaded her. Had she done the right thing in going to make her apology to Kian? He'd said nothing, had given no sign that he accepted her regrets. He'd only sat in his chair, unmoving, and stared at her, his face completely without emotion.

She tossed the bedcovers aside and sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness. Would he forgive her? she wondered. But why should he, when she'd said such terrible things to him earlier? Even if she didn't share his feelings of love, she was certainly well aware that he felt them. Kian had done something for her sake—something difficult—and had denied himself a pleasure he had once enjoyed regularly, before she had come into his life. He had done it for her, because of love, and she had thrown it in his face as if he'd been a fool.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, setting a hand to her forehead as she thought anew of how she'd hurt him. His expression . . . his eyes . . . she couldn't get the memory of them out of her thoughts. Even if she didn't want Kian to deny himself for her sake, there were dozens—hundreds—of better ways that she could have let him know. Whatever he'd felt for her before must surely now be dead. The fact that he'd said nothing to her when she'd apologized was proof of that, wasn't it? Kian was never at a loss for words, especially not when he could gain the advantage over her. But he'd said nothing, she thought with despair. He must hate her now. He was probably glad that she was going away to London.

A sudden chill filled the room, causing the fire in the hearth to flicker violently, and Loris looked up to see the balcony doors opening.

Glad hope filled her heart, and she leaped to her feet.

“Liw?”

The next moment his tall, muscular figure appeared, and Loris uttered a cry of relief.

“Oh, Liw!” She hurried across the chamber and into his open arms. “Oh, thank goodness. I'm so glad you've come.”

And then she did what she hated doing and burst into tears.

“Darling!” He held her close with one hand and shut the balcony doors with the other, then scooped her up into his arms and crossed the room to sit in one of the comfortable chairs near the fire. “What's wrong, Loris? Don't cry, love.”

“Oh, Liw,” she said, pressing her face against the comforting solidness of his chest. “I've done such a terrible thing to Kian. I said such awful things to him, and he was hurt by them.”